


Unquiet Spirit - AKA: The Noisiest Goddamn Ghost to Ever Haunt a Shatterdome

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Cussing, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mention of Canon Deaths, Post-Operation Pitfall (Pacific Rim), Recovery, Rivals to Friends to More, medication shenanigans, mention of other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 05:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11051952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: Raleigh wakes up after Pitfall to find Chuck sitting vigil at the end of his bed. But this Chuck is different from the one he only sort of knew before Pitfall, and through the fog of recovery and a metric shit-ton of medications, he comes to what seem like very logical conclusions.Shenanigans ensue. And fluff.





	Unquiet Spirit - AKA: The Noisiest Goddamn Ghost to Ever Haunt a Shatterdome

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this at work today, and a certain enabler (who shall remain nameless but knows EXACTLY who they are) thought it seemed viable, so I wrote it when I got home. The second play in a row is over and I'm not doing another damn thing until fall, so I actually had, like, TIME tonight. Whoda thunk??
> 
> Who needs to catch up on four months' worth of housework when there's crack to be written??

Raleigh is quite aware that he's missed time since Pitfall. He knows he's awakened at least once, if not twice, since he passed out and fell off his escape pod while waiting for the show-off chopper pilots to bank around, break their victory formation, and actually rescue them. He also knows that Mako has, on more than one occasion, reminded him of how many times she's had to rescue him just since Pitfall.

But he doesn't remember everything. He doesn't know how long it's been. He doesn't know what day it is.

And he has no idea why Chuck Hansen is sprawling in a chair at the foot of his hospital bed, staring at him with a faint smile -- not enough for dimples; just a hint of not-angry -- on the usually mocking face.

He's pretty goddamn sure Chuck Hansen is little more than microscopic and highly irradiated particles at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, sad to say.

And yet. There he sits. The asshole that walks like a man.

Or used to, anyway.

Same tallied leather coat. Same basic grey t-shirt and trousers. Same metal-shinned boots. Same split over the nose and bruising around the eye and cheek. Just like the last time Raleigh saw him before the big drop. The _last_ drop.

"You awake then?"

That fucking accent. Raleigh is fairly certain normal Australians don't put that much Crocodile Dundee swagga into their voices, but since Herc has much the same accent -- maybe even moreso -- he'd long ago decided not to comment on it. But he thought it every time either of them opened their mouths.

Not that he and Chuck had spent much time talking. Punching, yes. Bitching, definitely. But not talking.

The faint hint of a smile tilts up on one side, and this time, there's actual dimple. It softens the hard features. "You made it, mate. Good on you."

Raleigh blinks, wondering for the first time if this is a dream. Or maybe a nightmare, considering it's Chuck "The Asshole" Hansen sitting there, smiling. _Waiting._

Maybe he should... just ask?

Blinking again, he makes his mouth work. "Why are you here?"

Okay, not exactly what he wants to ask, but an understandable question. Chuck should be living it up, so to speak, in the storied halls of Valhalla, having helped vanquish the biggest threat to humanity that the world has ever known, excepting natural disasters. Why the hell would the cocky prick still be here, haunting the poor schmuck who can't even die right and move on to the glorious afterlife where, hopefully, his brother is waiting with open arms?

It's Chuck's turn to blink. "Wanted to see you."

Shrug, shift. The familiar clothes whoosh and shift with him, and Raleigh can't help but marvel at how perfect the little details of the vision are. If he's hallucinating, he's doing a damn good job. If Chuck's a ghost, he's a goddamn strong one. Damn near corporeal.

"Thought maybe we can finally clear things up between us, yeah?"

It's... a surprisingly sweet thought, and he wonders if Chuck had been this open and awkwardly sweet in life and just hid it alarmingly well or if vaporization had finally removed the giant stick up his ass.

The thought makes his mouth twitch on a grin, and Chuck brightens.

"I just... I was a dick, yeah?" The big jerk shakes his head, cheeks flushing just enough to make the freckles really stand out. "And I'm sorry. I mean... it was our last chance and I didn't want to fuck it up. But still... you didn't deserve any of my bullshit. So... I'm sorry."

Eyes wide, Raleigh can only nod. The speech is generous and earnest, and he can tell by the way Chuck can barely meet his eye that the kid means every word. If only he'd known this Chuck Hansen when he was alive....

But the red is spreading from freckled cheeks to the tips of both ears and down the suddenly tense throat, so he'd better think of something to say in return and fast.

"Uh... yeah, agreed. Thanks. And... I'm sorry, too." He swallows, only now realizing how dry his throat is. The IV fluids do nothing for the desert his esophagus has become. "My defenses... were up. Way up." Another half-quirk of a grin. "Higher than the Wall, maybe."

Chuck shakes his head, but the red is fading out. "Too soon, mate."

He isn't sure if a dead man is in any position to make a "too soon" joke, but he's not about to argue. If Chuck needs some closure to move on, Raleigh will damn well make sure the kid gets it. They hadn't been anything like friends, but the big jerk _had_ been saving the world for a significant portion of his life and had died putting paid to that life's work.

So he managed a full-on grin for the first time. Maybe since Pitfall. Maybe since Knifehead.

"Just sayin. I'll forgive you if you forgive me."

The red is completely gone, and Chuck looks him full-on, relieved and relaxed, probably for the first time in ten years. "Deal."

Normally, a handshake would follow such an exchange, but... well... somehow, Raleigh doesn't think that's possible. Chuck looks real as hell, but he can't be. At least not real enough to touch.

"Well."

Ah. Here it comes. The grand exit of the hero.

"Right, then. Uh... see you around, mate."

That gets a surprisingly painful smile. "Sure, kid. See you around."

But he won't. Not unless his poor ol' brain finally packs it in for good, like it should've done when Yancy was yanked out of it. Not unless being in another dimension did damage the doctors can't even begin to understand.

Okay. Maybe he'll be seeing Chuck sooner rather than later, after all.

And, just like that, Chuck Hansen is gone, and Raleigh settles back into the haze of not-quite-sleep that has stolen chunks of his time since Pitfall.

Probably for the best.

\--

"Oi, stop faking. I know you're awake, ya wanker."

Muttering, Raleigh flaps a hand at the hectoring voice mercilessly dragging him from the fog. He doesn't want to be aware. His head hurts when he's aware. The doctors can't figure it out. They think it's psychosomatic.

Or they think he's a psycho.

It's all in the fog.

"Raleigh. Mate. C'mon, you need to eat."

Mutter, mutter, that's what the IV is for, grumble.

"It'll keep you alive, mate, but it won't get you back on your feet." Prod, prod. Huh. So Chuck _can_ touch him. "Don't make me spoon-feed you, goddammit. Because I'll fucking do it, and I'll take pictures and give them to Tendo and they'll be on the 'net before you can piss out your latest bag of fluids."

That'll be something to see: a bed-ridden jaeger pilot being spoonfed by nothing at all. He can practically hear the universal, somehow nasal cry of "FAKE!" already.

"Goddammit, Becket--"

"I'm up, I'm up."

It reminds him of Yancy, and, as always, the slice of pain is bittersweet. Yance hated mornings. Loved sleeping in. Loved his goddamn yappy dog of a little brother, even when said yappy dog woke him up at ass o'clock to fight monsters.

So, a little grumbly and a little tender from the sudden shaft of memory, he grudgingly rolls to his back and trundles the bed up, irritably rubbing sleep from his eyes with one balled-up fist. The tray of so-called food off to his right isn't terribly appealing when he finally looks at it. Mashed potatoes. Applesauce. A spotty banana. Dry toast.

Freakin' meatloaf.

Ugh. He didn't save the goddamn world for this pre-chewed baby food shit.

Unfortunately, the second he registers the smell of proximate nourishment, his stomach wakes up and roars. So, ignoring Chuck's ghostly smirk, he tugs the tray arm over, adjusting the height and angle until he can lean back and shovel at the same time, and makes quick work of all the soft -- but not entirely tasteless -- food.

"Slow down, dammit. I can't exactly do the Heimlich on you if you choke."

Right. Non-corporeal. Hard to remember, what with every detail being perfect and so in focus. Hard to believe with that smirk looking just as full of asshole smug as it had when the kid was alive.

Rolling his eyes, Raleigh does slow down, but only enough to snark back. "Said as if any of this shit requires actual chewing. Can't choke on something without any chunks."

Chuck rolls _his_ eyes. "Doesn't mean you can't suck it down the wrong pipe. Slow. Down."

"Yeah, yeah." But he does. "Why are you still here?"

Jesus. What are they putting in his fluids? Exactly how drugged is he?

Thankfully, Chuck doesn't take offense. "Got nowhere else to be, mate."

That... was sad. Did the kid just not know where to go? Why wasn't he haunting Herc? Raleigh suddenly remembers waking to find Herc beside his bed, head lowered, looking so goddamn sad and lost. The man -- marshal, now that Pentecost was gone in the same cloud of vapor as his son -- hadn't realized yet that Raleigh was awake and, thus, hadn't hidden all that pain under a sad smile.

But Chuck is here instead of there. Or maybe the Hansens had made their peace with their tense relationship before that last drop, and that isn't what Chuck needs to move on.

Swallowing awkwardly around a mushy bite of meatloaf, Raleigh pauses to look the kid over. "Chuck?"

Apparently surprised at the sudden attention, the kid raises his eyebrows. "Hm?"

"Is there...?" Nope. "...Do you...?" Nuh-uh.

Why is this so hard?

Frowning and putting down his fork, he sighs. "What do you need?"

Chuck huffs something between a laugh and a grunt. "The fuck are you on about, mate?"

Blushing now, he stares at his food mush and tries to make sense. "I just... you're here. You must need something. From me." He swallows hard, throat all dry and scratchy again. "I want to help."

He hears the nervous swoosh-swoosh of shifting fabric and marvels again at how solid this stubborn jerk of a ghost is.

"Jesus, Raleigh. I just... I thought we could be mates, yeah? Don't make it weird."

Maybe they could have been. Maybe Chuck thought about it before flicking Striker's kill switch. Maybe this and maybe that.

Sighing, he prods at the gelatinous goo that might have been mashed potatoes if they weren't so damn gluey. "Yeah, Chuck. We can be mates. Friends." He finally grins a bit, though it feels more like a smirk when he turns it on the blushing jerk in the chair. "Whatever you heathens in the Land Down Under call it."

"Oi! That's just fucking rude!"

But the kid is smiling again, so Raleigh figures they're okay. If this is what Chuck needs to cross over, it's worth it.

And maybe even a little fun.

\--

"You look so much better." Mako's smile is, as always, like a candle floating on a still pool of deep, dark water. Silent and serene. Glowing with peace. "The doctors say you're awake almost all the time now."

Raleigh smiles, nowhere near as tranquil but definitely happy to see her after a couple of weeks with nothing but Chuck's intermittent, cheerfully caustic company. "Yup. Back to the ol' insomnia grindstone for me."

She rolls her eyes. "You could try another medication, you know. They won't all give you nightmares."

But he shakes his head. "I have enough of those on my own. That's not the kind of help I need."

At least he can scream himself awake from his own dreams. When he's drugged, he's just trapped there until it's over or the meds wear off. No thanks.

The hand on his is warm, strong for all its delicacy. Comforting.

"Have they weaned you off everything then?"

 _Everything_ meaning an entire pharmacy's worth of medications from painkillers to sedatives to antibacterials to antivirals to psychotropics. Even blood thinners to make sure he doesn't have a stroke before they can figure out what being in another dimension and piloting solo a second time did to his already fucked-up brain scans.

He sighs. "Everything but the painkillers for my head. They can't figure out the headaches." His jaw tightens. "They might be permanent. Nobody knows."

Painkillers... and anti-depressants. And anti-anxiety meds. All the shit he probably should have been taking -- along with regular therapy -- for the past five years or so.

But Mako doesn't need to know that. She's not in his head anymore and won't be again. Not with all the jaegers blown to hell and gone and all the scientists and doctors insisting that he should never Drift again under any circumstances.

A little silence falls between them, not uncomfortable but not the welcoming silence of the Drift. Because he's holding back the question he wants to ask. Because he's afraid she'll think he's crazy and he'll end up on anti-psychotics as well as anti-depressants.

Hell, maybe he should be. Maybe Chuck was an hallucination instead of a ghost.

But....

"Mako?"

"Hm?"

"Have you...."

His throat is suddenly dry. Apparently, that's a side effect of the anti-depressants. Or maybe the anti-anxiety meds. He can't remember at the moment.

"...Have you... talked to... Chuck?"

There. It's out there. Every muscle in his worn-out body tightens.

Mako's eyebrows furrow together. It's not quite a frown. She looks... perplexed?

That would make sense if she realizes Raleigh's been talking with a dead man. He's a little fuzzy on whether or not she believes in ghosts. Her culture believes in all sorts of spirits and demons and supernatural entities, but that wasn't something he'd thought to look for in the Drift.

Her thoughts on the afterlife hadn't exactly been a priority at the time.

They sure as hell are a priority now.

"I... suppose I haven't seen him." Her head tilts, and she stares at him. "Have you?"

Jesus. He can't even talk, his throat is so dry. Giving up, he reaches for his ice water bottle and tilts the bendy straw just so. God, the cool, wet rush feels like heaven on his poor throat, even as he gasps against the icy bite of it.

When he can breathe regularly again, he waves away Mako's concern and tries again.

"Chuck." He takes a deep breath. "He... he visits me, I guess. We... talk." It's hard to meet her eyes, so he only does it in fleeting glances. "Is that... okay?"

She's quiet for a long time. Long enough that it becomes uncomfortable. Especially since she watches him steadily the whole time.

Finally, she lowers her eyes. "Is he here often?"

He shrugs, still uncomfortable with the scrutiny. The kid seems to pop in almost every day, though never when anyone else is around, of course.

"Do you fight?"

He frowns, finally meeting her eyes with ease.

"When he visits. Is it awkward, or...?"

Ah. Clearing his throat, he shrugs. "It's... sort of awkward, I guess, but no. Not fighting." Which is a relief, honestly. At least Chuck's spirit isn't still pissed at him. "I just... can't figure out what he needs from me."

Her eyebrows raise. "What he needs?"

Helpless, he gestures vaguely. "Why would he be hanging around here if he didn't need something from me?"

Softening, she shakes her head. "Oh, Raleigh."

"What?"

Dammit, now she looks fond. "Nothing." Another headshake. "Just... I suppose... Chuck is...."

The fond expression morphs until it is almost as exasperated as it is fond, and Raleigh realizes she feels that way for them both. For him _and_ Chuck. Which is... sad.

"Just talk to him, Raleigh. You're already what he needs."

Now _he's_ exasperated, and he slumps back against his pillows with a huff. "Then why is he still here?"

She rolls her eyes and stands up, only to bend over and lean her forehead against his. "You are on far too much medication for this much introspection."

"That is not helpful!"

Great. Now she's chuckling at him.

"Get some sleep. You need it."

Without giving him a chance to say anything else, she's gone.

Frustrated, he crosses his arms and grunts. Fine friend he is. Can't even figure out how to help one cranky Australian cross over.

Dammit.

\--

"Are you listening, Mr. Becket?"

Wincing, he looks up from where he's been staring at his boots. He can't help it. This is the first time he's been fully clothed in over a month. Most of which he only remembers in waking snatches, but the fact remains.

He's not used to wearing clothes, and his boots feel heavy as hell. He's a little worried he might trip over his feet and bash his stupid skull in on the concrete floor. The damn thing doesn't need any more blunt trauma.

"As I was saying, do not lift over ten pounds regularly, and don't lift over fifty pounds at all. Here's your physical therapy schedule. Most of it, you can do yourself from the instructions, but your PT will tell me if you miss any of your appointments, and I will tell Marshal Hansen. I'm not kidding. Do you understand?"

Jesus. He isn't five years old. "Yes, I understand."

"Here's your medication schedule. And don't give me that look. You're getting the day-of-the-week pill case, and that's final. If I have to break into your bunk and load it up at the start of every week, I will do so. Understood?"

His mouth twitches, and he finally looks his long-suffering primary physician full-on. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

Brown eyes narrow. "Don't get cute with me, son. We're making up for lost time, here, and I'll be damned if we don't find something to get you on a better sleep schedule. And for the love of God, go to the cafeteria and eat something. A whole plate of something." The guy has the nerve to poke him in the chest, though he barely comes up to Raleigh's chin. "You're still underweight for your muscle mass. And there'd better damn well be vegetables. Not just potatoes, not just starches. Don't make me call the kitchen with a special menu."

Rolling his eyes, he puts his hands up in surrender. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

"You're being a smartass, but you're also doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances." The stern expression softens. "Don't mess around with the headaches, son. Take your meds, okay? _Before_ you're in agony?"

Because it takes a much higher dose to climb on top of the pain if he lets it get bad before treating. Yeah, yeah. He knows.

Even Chuck running cool, phantom fingers through his hair for over an hour hadn't alleviated the agony of a late-medicated phantom headache.

Though the unintentional joke makes him grin.

Thus, with many a tut-tutting from the doctor, Raleigh finally escapes the med bay and heads for his bunk. Admittedly, he hadn't spent enough time there before Pitfall to really think of it as home, but it's the closest thing he's got to one at this point, so he's going there first. He needs... comfort clothes. He wants out of his fatigues and into some civvies.

Hell, maybe he'll even slop around in pajamas. Chuck'll get a kick out of it.

If he knows where to find Raleigh now. Surely a ghost will just... know?

But it's a momentary cloud on the blinding sky of euphoria at finally being out of the sterile white of the med bay, so he catches himself humming as he strolls along the shatterdome hallways. He hasn't listened to music in a dog's years. He should set up a playlist on his desk array.

After he eats. His stomach is already growling.

So, still humming and grinning a bit, he tosses his bag of snake oil and nostrums on his desk, changes quickly into the standard issue but comfortable henley and flannel pajama pants, tugs on a thick pair of socks, and debates whether he should bother with the ugly old-man slippers from central supply or put his boots back on. Or just wander around in socks.

Better not. Everyone probably already thinks he's nuts.

Boots, it is.

Much more comfortable now, he bee-lines for the cafeteria and the heady scents of meat and cheese and herbs and spices. Jesus, he's tired of meatloaf. He'd give just about anything for a steak. Even a shitty, gristly one. He can cut around any weird bits.

Unfortunately, such pleasant thoughts are probably why he doesn't notice the large body blocking his way until he literally runs into it. It feels like he just ran into a brick wall. And his boots are so damn heavy and he's so damn weak that he just bounces off and falls backward--

"Oi, easy on the ribs, ya wanker! They're still healing, goddammit."

\--until strong, hard hands catch him, one at the elbow and one snagging the shirt at his waist.

"Jesus, Raleigh, you all right, then? Why the fuck aren't you looking where you're going?"

He blinks.

Because, unless he's having some weird sort of walking dream, he was just rescued from braining himself on the cafeteria floor by... Chuck Hansen.

A very solid Chuck Hansen.

Who everyone can apparently see, if the sudden silence around them is any indication?

What the fuck?

"Raleigh? Mate, you look... is it another headache?"

But he can only blink, because... everyone's _staring._ At him and at _Chuck._

They can _see_ him.

Jesus. Jesus, that means--

"Chuck??"

"Well, I'm not fucking Santa Claus, mate. What's wrong with you, then?" The apparition huffs a laugh. "Look like you've seen a ghost."

His knees give out, and he sinks to the floor despite Chuck's grip on him. He can feel how pale he's gone, what with how light-headed he suddenly is as he stares up at what simply cannot be.

Chuck. Who'd joked about not being able to Heimlich him. Because he had... injured his ribs? In Pitfall? Because he hadn't....

_Look like you've seen a ghost._

"Oi, mate, I'm taking you back to the--"

"Jesus Christ, Chuck, I thought you were fucking dead."

His voice is strengthless, but Chuck hears it, all right. His eyes pop wide.

"What the fuck, mate?"

"I thought... no one was ever around... no one ever saw you... you're so different but you look just the same...."

But did he? Hadn't he noticed that the cut over the kid's nose has healed to a thin pink line? That the bruising has faded to the regular dark circles any jaeger pilot has from all the sleepless nights and kaiju nightmares?

Jesus. Chuck was alive this whole time.

_Chuck is alive._

Blinking, fresh out of words to explain himself, Raleigh just stares as light finally dawns on those newly familiar features.

"Oi, are you taking the piss right now?"

He'd laugh if he weren't still gobsmacked by his revelation.

Jesus. Chuck had combed fingers through his hair for like an-- 

 _Real_ fingers. Not ghost fingers.

But... why?

"Oh, my God, you really thought I was dead, didn't you?" Chuck's very much alive face cycles from irritated to amused and back again. "You thought I was haunting you! Jesus, no wonder you always looked so goddamn constipated when I showed up! I thought it was all the medication!"

A high-pitched sound perilously close to a giggle escapes him, and he puts his hands over his face, lying flat on his back on the cafeteria floor, listening to the rising laughter as the joke spreads through the shatterdome population. Chuck was alive this whole goddamn time, and Raleigh is the biggest moron under the fucking sun, and he's blaming the whole lot of it on the shit-ton of medication that asshole of a doctor had pumped into him in all those goddamn fluid bags.

He'll never live this down. Not if he lives a hundred years.

Oh, sweet mercy, Mako thought--

Another fucking giggle squeezes out of him. Because Mako knew Chuck was alive, so that look--

"Oh, my God, I think Mako was trying to give me dating advice, and I don't know what to do with that because you're alive and I let you pet my hair because I was smacked out of my mind."

Snickering, Chuck crouches nearby, though Raleigh can't bring himself to look. He hears the knees pop, though, and the rustle of clothing.

Because Chuck is alive, so his clothes make fucking noise.

"You talk to Mako about me?"

"I thought you were haunting me, asshole. I was asking how to help you cross over."

Another snicker. "Is it weird that I think that's rather nice of you?"

"Yes, it fucking is, and you know it."

"Oh, climb down, ya wanker. No harm done." Now, the bastard actually sits down next to him. Right there on the cafeteria floor, with everyone still laughing their asses off. "If it helps, I was trying to help you, too."

He parts his fingers just enough to glare through with one eye. "Help me cross over?"

Uh-oh. There was the phantom smirk. Just enough of a half-smile to activate that damn dimple. "Wanker. I was trying to help you feel better. 'S why I pet your hair, as you put it, ya ratbag."

Which was... sweet. Weird, but nice.

Blushing, he covers his eyes again. "But if you're fine... why was Herc always so damn sad? I mean...?"

A nudge at his side. "Lost his best friend, didn't he? Maybe more than that, though I never went prying in the Drift. He and Pentecost knew each other from the beginning, mate. It's been almost as hard on him as I imagine losing me would've been."

Well. No use thinking about that, now that he knows the truth. And thank God for it.

But a little silence falls between them, and he has no idea how to fill it now that Chuck is alive and well and apparently not going anywhere any time soon.

What now?

Suddenly, the kid grins. "Did Mako really give you dating advice about me?"

He snorts, shifting to hide behind his forearm instead of his hands. His right arm is still achy and weak from the drivegear trauma of losing yet another of Gipsy's arms, so he lays it on the floor to rest before the ache really settles in. At least his scars are symmetrical now.

"Sort of. She didn't know I thought you were dead, so I guess she thought... I mean... all I could think to ask was what you might need from me."

"And what does she think I need?" Chuck's voice is quietly amused.

Hesitantly, he peers over his forearm. The kid's eyes are warm, that big body relaxed. It's... a good look for him, actually, but not a new one. It occurs to him suddenly that this is how Chuck has looked almost since the first time he sat at the foot of Raleigh's bed after Pitfall.

Like he's finally shrugged the world off those broad shoulders.

Like there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

Swallowing hard against his damn dry throat, Raleigh shrugs. "She said I'm already what you need."

The grin widens until both dimples carve deep. "She's not wrong, mate."

Oh.

_Oh._

Well.

Blushing all over again, Raleigh fumbles to sit up, watches with no small amount of jealousy as Chuck twists gracefully to his feet, then grudgingly takes the offered hand up. And when Chuck doesn't let go... neither does Raleigh.

The laughter dries up, only to be replaced with "Awww!"s and whispers, and Raleigh has no doubt that Mako and Herc will hear about the dramatic cafeteria comedy before he and Chuck can even fill their plates, but somehow, it doesn't matter.

He's out of the med bay. He's what Chuck needs. And he's pretty sure that Chuck is trying to be what he needs, too.

Alive. This whole time.

Nope. He'll never, ever live this down.

But he can live with that.

**THE END**


End file.
